


Hell on Wheels

by prairiecrow



Series: Terra Incognita [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Knight Rider (1982), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Androids, Blow Jobs, Dirty Sex, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Leather Kink, Leather Trousers, M/M, Motorcycles, Robot Sex, Teasing, android sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>KITT has never had a good relationship with motorcycles. Tony intends to change that, but may well end up getting more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here, have a pic of KITT in the Silver android:
> 
> http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_A3oFfKDC2E4/TTgAi2QFeII/AAAAAAAAJOQ/zhbgBhZZEiI/s1600/Jared+Leto+Hairstyle+8.jpeg

KITT had never liked motorcycles — in fact, his attitude toward them could be summed up in three words: contempt, scorn, and a weird interspecies jealousy that Tony couldn't help but find quietly hilarious. So naturally he kept dropping little hints that gee, now that KITT had a humanoid body to play with maybe he should give motorcycles a second (" _Two thousandth and thirty-fourth, thank you_ ," KITT had retorted tartly, which Tony had naturally ignored) chance…

And naturally, being Tony Stark, he eventually got what he wanted. Which translated into a misty spring morning out at Penner Motocross Track in New Jersey, which had been booked for a solid hour of two-rider practice before it would be opened up to the public to let KITT get a taste of the fun and the thrill of racing against a full pack… and to Tony waiting impatiently in the hallway outside the clubhouse's changing stalls, clad in worn (but undeniably stylish) blue jeans and well-polished boots and a heavy leather jacket guaranteed to keep his skin intact even if he came off his bike at a hundred and thirty miles per hour. He was pacing because KITT — in the body of Kitt Silver, of course — was taking his own sweet-ass time, and because he honestly didn't know what he was about to see: Kitt had come out to the track primly dressed in business casual, including a slim-line black camelhair coat, and had slipped into his own private change room without letting Tony get so much as a sniff at what was in the suitcase he'd taken along with him.

Tony paused to glance at his rugged (but also elegantly expensive) sports watch, and scowled: 7:54:13 A.M., and their time on the track started at 8:00:00 precisely. "You coming, sweetheart?" he sing-songed. "We've got five minutes and change to get our asses out onto the track."

"I'm well aware," Kitt called back, with a smile in his voice — and a quality of smugness that made Tony's pulse rate jump a little, because in the past it had never boded anything but good. "You're perfectly free to head out ahead of me, you know."

Tony shook his head once, even though he knew it couldn't be seen. "You're kidding, right? I'm pretty sure if I left you to your own devices, you'd slip out the back and be off to New York faster than a jackrabbit on a date."

Which made Kitt laugh outright. "Tony… I don't hate motorcycles _that_ much."

"Could've fooled me," Tony muttered, knowing that the android could hear that observation too, and went back to pacing, tapping his folded leather gloves against the palm of his left hand as an outlet for some of his restless energy.

He wasn't nervous, precisely: if Kitt crashed his bike in a spectacular fashion the Silver android wouldn't suffer anywhere near enough damage to endanger the AI riding it, and in any case anything broken could be repaired, with no lasting bruises (except to KITT's pride, perhaps). He also had perfect confidence in his own ability to handle three hundred and twenty-eight pounds of precariously balanced high-speed machinery on an uneven and slippery track. No, what was getting to him was that suitcase, which he'd been forbidden to even touch: what the Hell had Kitt sneaked out here, anyway? Something ridiculous enough to make Tony think twice about taking him out on the track, maybe? Well, if so, the joke was on him: Tony wasn't about to let something like sweatpants and a ripped T-shirt, or a tuxedo, or even a ballet tutu and slippers dissuade him from his goal today, because when Tony Stark made a plan —

The change room door at the end of the hall opened, and Tony turned, ready for absolutely anything —

— except the overall effect of what he was seeing as Kitt Silver stepped into view and sauntered toward him… no, _slunk_ toward him like a panther, all smoothly oiled grace and a sleek feline smile and dear God, _riding leathers_ , from a crisply new black jacket that did outrageous things to his slender figure all the way down to boots that gleamed even more fiercely than Tony's.

And what lay in between the jacket and the boots… Kitt looked as cool and elegant as always, but he also looked like a fantasy straight out of a fetish-wear catalogue — and black had always been his colour, no question about that, especially this type of blackness that always made Tony want to lick it up like midnight's own milk.

To Hell with _good_ — this was double-plus good, double _double_ -plus good, this was so excellent that for a couple of seconds it felt like all the blood had momentarily deserted Tony's brain in a headlong rush to his genitals. He knew his mouth had fallen open and that he was staring without blinking, but it took another couple of seconds for some blood to be redirected northward enough to generate a few choked and choice words:

"What the hell… did you _spray paint_ those pants on?"

Kitt glided to a halt within easy reach of Tony's suddenly itching fingers and glanced down, one corner of his narrow-lipped mouth quirking in amusement as he surveyed the skin-tight, soft, supple leather that cloaked him in ebony as if he'd dipped himself in ink. "They don't leave much to the imagination, do they?" he conceded.

"Believe me," Tony said fervently, "I'm not complaining. Far, far from it! It's just…" He couldn't seem to stop staring, and for one crazy second he considered banging his head against the nearest wall until his ability to speak without babbling was restored. "This isn't about learning to ride any more, is it?"

"Perhaps not entirely," Kitt allowed, and stepped right the fuck up into Tony's space, close enough that he could feel artificial body heat radiating out of the open collar of Kitt's jacket, close enough to smell the musk that Tony had built into the mechanism, overlaid with the dusky scent of new leather. Whole new sections of Tony's cerebral cortex promptly short-circuited: he continued to stare, momentarily speechless, aware of a silly little grin pulling at the corners of his mouth as Kitt leaned forward to breathe against his cheek: "However, you _did_ promise to do your level best to convince me of the virtues of two-wheeled locomotion — and far be it from me to interfere with your carefully thought-out plans."

"Uh," Tony said, and swallowed hard as Kitt's right forefinger touched the base of his cock — which was starting to feel positively constricted inside his jeans — and trailed slowly along its length. Virtue be damned, apparently. "Um, well, y'know, 'the best laid plans' and all that…"

"Oh no," Kitt purred, now into his ear, and damned if the little bastard wasn't _laughing_ at him, "I wouldn't dream of missing this golden opportunity to learn from the great Tony Stark…" His fingertip circled the swollen head of Tony's dick, before being joined by the subtle caress of a couple more. "Unless, of course, the great Tony Stark is concerned he won't be able to drive straight…?"

"Yeah, right!" Tony snorted — and grabbed that amazing ink-dipped ass with both hands, and pulled, effectively erasing the narrow space between them. Kitt made no objection: in fact, he wrapped his thinly gloved left hand around the back of Tony's head and positively _growled_ , a growl that was somewhat muffled by Tony's eager mouth. For a few seconds no sound emerged from either of them except deepened breathing and a couple of happy little moans, until Tony pulled away just enough to mutter between kisses: "Y'know — I can think of about two hundred and eighty-seven pounds of hardware — I'd _much_ rather have throbbing between my thighs — than an NCR Leggera 1200 Titanium Special… 

Kitt, who was indeed a royal bastard, gave him one final little peck on the lips and stepped away, breaking the hungry hold of Tony's hands with effortless android strength. He hadn't stiffened inside those outrageous leather pants, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested, as Tony well knew: only that he was intent, for the moment, on attending to business. "The track," he prompted with a trace of a teasing smile, turning away toward the doors leading into the clubhouse proper, and _oh fuck that ass_ , "and later… we'll see."

Tony followed like a hawk fixated on a particularly juicy lure. "Damned right we'll see," he vowed, and perhaps he could be forgiven if his own smile was a combination of lusty, affectionate, and downright predatory.


	2. Chapter 2

Thirty-two minutes later, straddling his own cherry-red machine where he'd parked it at the side of the track and watching Kitt's black and silver Leggera tear around the far curve of the course with precisely controlled speed and a spray of wet dirt, Tony had to admit yet again that he was, indeed, an absolute and unqualified genius.

He'd ordered JARVIS to prepare and download into KITT's behavioural matrix a physical skill set appropriate for riding motorcycles, but of necessity it was only a basic kit: data on which controls coordinated which of the bike's functions, an algorithm set for calculating mass-to-acceleration ratios depending on the weigh of the machine, stuff like that — in other words, generally applicable data that would get Kitt Silver safely onto the bike and provide him with a decent chance of not spinning out the first time he put on a serious burst of speed. What JARVIS's skill set package didn't provide was all the little shit that any rider had to pick up by experience: how each individual bike felt and handled, how to use shifts of their own body weight to influence its movements, and more importantly in KITT's case, how to control a machine that wasn't actually tied in to his proprioceptory systems — in short, something he was driving, not inhabiting. 

That input discrepancy had led to a couple of spectacular wipe-outs early in the game, but Kitt hadn't been deterred: he'd agreed to take part in this experiment, and once he got his figurative teeth into something he never let go until he'd shaken it into submission. So he'd pulled himself up out of the mud, brushed off the clinging grime as best he could, slung his leg back over the bike's saddle and faced the track with his chin up and the gleam of undaunted determination in his eyes — and Tony had flashed him a grin full of pride, before leading him out to go skidding through the mud all over again. 

And damn, he learned fast! After a little over a half an hour of manhandling the Leggera he was operating at the level of a human who'd been practicing diligently for several days — still figuring out the fine tuning, but confident in the basics. So Tony had turned him loose to run the entire track on his own, and now he sped toward Tony's position at about fifty-five miles per hour: visibly shifting his centre of gravity to slough the bike from side to side, cutting big swoops in the track's surface with his rear wheel, then straightening out and flying right for the last twenty yards before turning and leaning to skid to a halt on Tony's left, their machines more or less parallel.

Tony smirked, and dipped his chin to offer a bright glance over dark glasses. "Your parking could use a bit of work, darlin'," he observed.

Kitt tossed his head scornfully. "Oh, please! I think I'm doing marvellously well, all things considered."

Tony eyed the android's riding leathers, which were thoroughly smeared with mud. "Yeah, well, if by 'marvellously well' you mean 'I'm going to need a full wash and wax before I'm presentable again'… 

Kitt was still regarding him with considerable hauteur, but there was a challenging edge to his smile now. "Oh, I have no objection to that, provided I have a willing volunteer to help me scrub the bits I can't easily see."

Which sent all kinds of heat flowing to various parts of Tony's body. It was ridiculous, really: he'd been having Silver sexually on a regular basis for almost three months now, which was way beyond his expiry date with any other lover except Pepper. The game of trading innuendos should be getting old by now. Instead he found himself having to shift his crotch a little because the pressure of the bike's saddle against his balls was making them throb in a way that was incredibly distracting, and his gaze was being dragged up the line of Kitt's slim leg to his own artificial package —

— which was showing definite signs of life inside those too-tight-to-be-legal black leather pants. Those mud-smeared too-tight-to-be-legal black leather pants, which filled Tony with a savage impulse to lunge off his bike and take Kitt down into the dirt, where they could roll and tussle and kiss with utter disregard for the state of their clothes, until he managed to get the fly open and skin the thin soft leather down enough to slip a wet hand inside…

"Tony?" Kitt asked pointedly, and Tony blinked back to reality. The android was regarding him with its right eyebrow on the rise, an expression of affectionate exasperation he knew all too well. It should have bored him to tears; instead it made his heart swell against the confines of the reactor housing. "My eyes are up here, remember?"

Tony licked his lips. Honestly, he couldn't help it: a man could only take so much. "Shouldn't have worn those pants then," he countered, shifting his hips again to try to ease the pressure on his swelling cock inside his jeans, "or at least you — no, I take that back, you're covered in dirt and it doesn't help, those pants are _breathtaking_ , full stop."

The exasperation was still there, but now it was _smouldering_ exasperation, how the hell did he manage to pull that off? 

"Well, thank you," Kitt replied, inclining his chin like the Queen of England accepting a compliment from a commoner, if the Queen were in the habit of looking as smug as the cat who'd eaten the cream.

He was trying to focus on Kitt's amused expression, really he was, but his eyes insisted on wandering back down again. The android's frame was slender but so damned strong, managing to straddle the Leggera with both power and grace — too reminiscent by far of the way he'd straddled Tony's hips on any number of occasions, arching his back and making the most delicious noises as Tony's cock ploughed into him… 

Tony's gaze hit the point where the slight ridge in the Leggera's seat met the curves of Kitt's ass, pressing tight black leather right into the cleft, and that was it, he was officially _done_. "Listen… you need a shower, and I could really use a sandwich —"

"You just ate an hour and twelve minutes ago," Kitt pointed out.

Tony waved the objection away impatiently; he was too busy taking a cognitive step back to take in the whole picture of the Silver android astride a powerful speed machine, its handsome face isolated in the frame provided by its ebony helmet and its body clad in material that made him want to grab it and start biting. "So what say we call it a day? We can grab lunch at the clubhouse —"

Kitt's left eyebrow joined the right in a state of elevation. "Tony, it's eight thirty-six in the morning!"

Which earned him a shrug as Tony glanced briefly away across the track, trying to look casual and probably not succeeding. "Riding works up an appetite — not that you'd know."

The android studied him for a couple of seconds, eyebrows drawing together in a slight scowl that suddenly became a sly grin. "Not in that sense, perhaps," Kitt observed, "but you're right about one thing: I'm _very_ dirty, and I could certainly use an extra set of hands to help me get clean again. Do you think you could put off that sandwich long enough to pitch in?"

Tony, grinning back, tightened his hands on his bike's steering yoke in a way that made the engine roar sweetly to life. "I think I can manage that," he announced over the rumble of one hundred and thirty-two horses, and when he kicked off from the ground and accelerated up the track toward the clubhouse Kitt fell in on his right side, as easily and as naturally as Obsidian kept pace with Iron Man.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony Stark hadn't gotten where he was in the world today by being blithely unaware of his surroundings (except in his various workshops, because JARVIS was there to keep watch for him): he was fully cognisant of the fact that their exertions on the Penner track probably hadn't gone unnoticed, because he was _Tony Stark_ and the tabloids ate up everything he did like ice cream. That's why he'd been careful to keep his hands (and lustier extremes of body language) to himself starting the second they'd emerged from the clubhouse — Kitt Silver was supposed to be his personal assistant, after all, and definitely _not_ his regular fuck-buddy, so grabbing and kissing the 'man' in public was absolutely out of the question…

Still, when they'd rolled up the curving driveway to the sprawling front steps of the neo-Colonial clubhouse and parked neatly in front of it, he couldn't help another quick (and yeah, okay, maybe a little bit greedy) appreciative sidelong glance, and a muttered comment as they turned off the bikes' engines: "Hot damn, those pants are gonna put you on the front page of every gossip rag in the country, you know that, right?"

"They're already on the Us Magazine website," Kitt said briskly, nudging the Leggera's kickstand down with the heel of his left boot and pulling off his helmet before continuing: "Ms. Amelia Chao got a few good shots with a telephoto lens as we were coming down these very steps — I'm not sure yet who to attribute the track shots to, but whoever they are, I must commend them on their sense of composition."

"Please," Tony said with a wince of insincere earnestness as they dismounted and started up the flight of stairs, leaving their helmets securely perched on the seats they'd just vacated, "tell me they got my good side!"

"As if you have a bad side," Kitt retorted, flashing a merry sidelong glance of his own. "And yes, they did, including…" Another glance, this one down and behind Tony's hips. "... some excellent perspectives on the side of you that everybody can appreciate." 

This time his wince was pained. "Are you implying that my ass is better looking than my face?"

"Not in the least," Kitt smirked, and darted ahead to open the beautifully carved oak door for Tony: he'd placed the clubhouse reservation personally, and been careful to specify that no staff were to be present in the main house during the booked hour, including the usual doorman. "Every square inch of you is absolutely magnificent, but your smile can light up a room and your eyes shine with such incisive intelligence —"

"So," he interrupted, crossing the tiny anteroom in three strides and grabbing the second door to take his turn opening things, "my dick isn't even in the running, is that what you're saying?"

Kitt smiled at him sardonically and offered a little bow of his chin as he passed into the clubhouse proper. "You're just full of incorrect inferences this morning, aren't you?" 

"Told you I needed a sandwich. No nutrients, impaired cognition, so on and so forth…" The door closed behind him with a muted _click_ that bespoke excellent craftsmanship and old wealth, leaving Tony — who had ensured in advance that JARVIS had taken care of the clubhouse's internal security feeds — finally away from prying eyes… and Kitt had paused and turned to face him, with a curve of those narrow lips that suggested he knew exactly what Tony was thinking at this precise second — 

— suspicions that Tony promptly confirmed by moving in on him without hesitation, taking hard hold of the android's leather-clad hips with muddy-gloved hands and pushing with his full body weight, knowing that this machine could take a lot of rough handling. Kitt, who could have picked Tony up and tossed him across the lobby if he'd felt like it, settled for closing his hands around Tony's hips in turn and letting himself be pushed, until his back fetched up against the wide oak-panelled pillar that Tony had been aiming for and finally, _finally_ Tony could crowd in close and kiss that smirk off his face —

— or try to, anyway, because it was still there when he pulled back to catch his breath. "Impatient," the A.I. observed. 

"Says the guy who's wearing leather pants so tight you can count every ridge on his cock through them," Tony retorted, albeit a bit more breathlessly.

Kitt's smile turned both ineffably more smug and sweet enough to slide into Tony's heart like a silver blade. "What will the tabloids have to say about _that_ , I wonder?"

"That I have the sexiest PA east of the Rockies." He stepped back just enough to start dealing with the zipper of Kitt's jacket, peeling it down and flicking it back to reveal a skin-tight black muscle shirt underneath. "Make that the sexiest PA on the continent," as he tugged the hem of the shirt out of the leather clasping the android's slender waist and shoved both hands up underneath, openly admiring the expanse of pale skin revealed as it rucked up, and the way each neat nipple hardened to an eager little nub under a flick of his thumbs. "You're a damned clean liar, by the way — the leathers kept most of the mud on the outside, just like they're supposed to."

"Oh, I'm sure that if you tried you could find some still wet enough to smear…" Laughter danced in Kitt's hazel eyes as he slipped both hands back and down, cupping and squeezing the part of his pilot he'd initially identified as worthy of admiration. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Tony? Getting me all dirty that way…"

Tony growled, and shifted his right hand down to apply pressure to the root of Kitt's erection — fully present and accounted for, thank you very much — with the heel of his hand. "Not if you want me to suck you off, sweetheart — I know what's in motocross track mud, and no way in Hell am I putting _that_ in my digestive system."

"Well then, you'll have to be exceptionally careful when you open up the pants," and he leaned forward to worship Tony's lips briefly with his own before licking along Tony's lower lip and opening his eyes for a devastatingly direct gaze as he whispered soft hot words: "Because I'll tell you right now, I am _not_ wearing any underwear."

Somewhere deep in Tony's belly, in a place directly connected to the core of his own cock, a small thermonuclear device went into the red and fast-forwarded his whole system dramatically closer to final detonation.


	4. Chapter 4

They stared at each other for a long silent moment, full of incandescent promise, before Tony's knees unlocked and he sank to the floor in front of the still-standing Silver android, stripping off his tight leather gloves — left hand, right hand — and tossing them aside without a second thought for where they landed. Kitt smirked down at him fondly, carding the fingers of one strong slender hand into the artfully gelled tousle of Tony's hair and clasping the other behind the nape of his own neck, but Tony was too busy unbuttoning those insanely hot leather pants and stripping down the zipper to ask him what the hell he found so funny — as if he couldn't guess, but if Kitt wanted to collect the muddy gloves and set them somewhere else nice and neat, he could damned well do it himself, Tony was _busy_ … 

Kitt, thank Jesus, didn't seem inclined to do so. Tony hadn't been exaggerating much about counting every ridge of Silver's cock through the thin soft leather, and if there hadn't been mud spattered and smeared all over the crotch of the pants in question he would have spent a few seconds mouthing and biting at the deliciously thick column bulging against its confinement, but well, yeah, he _did_ know the kind of chemical residue produced by motorcycles, so thanks but no thanks. Instead he wasted no time in stripping Kitt's fly open, revealing smooth clean skin and the root of that gorgeous artificial cock inclined to Kitt's left and up along his hip, a root that he applied his mouth to instead, licking and sucking and biting a little, managing to tug the pants down enough to insinuate his tongue into the gap between cock and bottom of fly. The sly tickle on his balls made Kitt gasp soft laughter and murmur throatily: "Oh yes, please, I could do with some more of _that_ …"

"Mph," Tony grunted, and went back to worshipping the root while his left hand slid up to palm the leather-clad curve of Kitt's hard-on: _Give me a minute, sweetheart, I'm working here!_ was a good approximate translation, and Kitt was smart enough to pick up on that.  

"You're a tease," the robot complained, but judging by the little undulation of his hips he wasn't seriously objecting.

"Mmm," Tony acknowledged — _Guilty as charged!_ — and got down to the serious business of driving Kitt insane. 

Within thirty seconds of only having Tony's mouth on three or four centimetres of him his breathing was conspicuously more ragged, and Tony could practically feel the throb of desperation through now-hot leather. "Tony…" Elegant fingertips tightened against his scalp, not quite pulling him closer. "Tony, please —" 

Which was Tony's cue to stop, but not to pull his mouth away, growling against saliva-wet synth skin: "Damn, baby, you're really hot for this, aren't you?" 

"Like —" An actual moan when Tony briefly bit down, hard. "Like you aren't…"

Tony smirked in his turn, soothing the bitten place with a couple of slow strokes of his tongue. "Tell me," he said with a patently patient inflection, and knew without looking up that Kitt was gazing down at him with a combination of annoyance and yearning, and maybe even biting his lip, oh _fuck_ that was ten different flavours of hot…

"Tony —"

Tony closed his eyes, the better to concentrate on the blood-pulse in his own cock, which was at full attention in spite of not currently being touched. "Use your words, Kitten," he purred, pulling back a couple of centimetres to make his point and to look up the long beautiful line of Silver's body, to the absolutely enchanting consternation on that pretty face. "Here, I'll start you off: _Tony, I want you to_ …"

A blink, then a dangerous narrowing of shining hazel eyes. "You can't be serious."

"Talk dirty to me," Tony grinned without a trace of remorse, "or it's not happening."

A beat, during which Tony could visualize the calculations cascading inside the Silver android's gold-titanium skull, taking into account the promise of a spectacular blowjob, Tony's own clearly stated kinks, and the fact that Tony really didn't ask him for overtly filthy commentary that often… and maybe, just maybe, the fact that Kitt didn't really mind for all his prim-and-prissy butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth attitude.

"What do you want me to say?" Kitt finally asked, but the timbre of his voice was low and velvety and — oh, _yes,_ victory was going to be _so fucking sweet_ …

Tony smiled up at him, proud and approving, and ran teasing fingers along the still-clad length of his eager erection. "You're an inventive little A.I.," he invited: "Surprise me."

[TO BE CONTINUED]


End file.
